The Lion Within
by PenguinofProse
Summary: Rose has been talked into sneaking out to get supplies for a party but she's not really the sneaking-around-after-hours type of Gryffindor. Scorpius helps her to see that she's plenty brave. First baby steps towards Scorrose. Can be read as a prequel to "Of Bananas and Brilliance".


**a/n Hello and welcome! This was written for the November practice round of ****The International Wizarding School Championship**

**Prompts: **[First line/last line] "No one looks back on their life and remembers the nights they had plenty of sleep." (main)

[Action] Being chased

**Theme: Celebration**

**Wordcount: 1952**

**... And if you enjoy it, you might want to check out **_**Of Bananas and Brilliance**_**, which can be read as a companion piece to this, later on in the Scorrose journey.**

**Happy reading!**

No one looks back on their life and remembers the nights they had plenty of sleep.

Rose reminds herself of this as she jogs nervously along the corridor. She's not sure who first came up with that pearl of wisdom – it sounds like the sort of thing Uncle George might have coined – but she knows that it is currently a favourite of James Potter. She knows this, because her smarmy git of a cousin has been parroting it at her for the last week with scarcely a pause for breath. And she wishes he would shut up, because it's growing repetitive and at least a little imbecilic.

And she also wishes he would shut up because she's pretty damn sure it's not true.

She remembers the night her mother first read to her from _Hogwarts: A History_, for example. She had looked forward to being considered old enough for the legendary book for as long as she had been alive, so it was a special moment when Hermione read it as seven-year-old Rose's bedtime story. So, there we go, memorable night _with _plenty of sleep.

She rests her case.

But James is set on throwing this damn party, so Rose is jogging through the shadows and repeating her cousin's stupid motivational _rubbish _to herself. Of course, the causal link is a little more complex than that. She's heading for the kitchens to get the snacks. She was supposed to be helping Fred source the fireworks, this being something of a bonfire night bash, but chickened out of helping to smuggle Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products into the castle. So then, when she failed at that, she was tasked with procuring some Firewhiskey but – well – she's a prefect. Even a Guy Fawkes' party does not mean a prefect is going to feel comfortable getting her hands on contraband alcohol.

So now, in a sort of sick third-time-lucky kind of a situation, she finds herself staking her badge on her ability to sneak into the kitchen and pick up some food without being caught. She's not really made for such cloak and dagger conspiracies, she notes. She can't quite believe she's the child of two people who fought Voldemort, for goodness' sake. She's pretty sure she wouldn't have the bravery to fight a _flobberworm_.

How she ended up in Gryffindor is a mystery to her.

Well, that's not entirely true. She ended up in Gryffindor because the Sorting Hat was trying to choose between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, and she insisted rather loudly – if one can be loud within one's own head, that is – that she would be in Gryffindor, thank you very much. And the Sorting Hat had purred a little, and said that was very _daring_ of her to request that so confidently, and to Gryffindor she duly went.

It's literally the only Gryffindor thing she's ever done in her entire life.

Which brings her back full circle to this stupid kitchen excursion, because somehow her cousin's incessant litany of motivational quotes and her little brother's insistence that this is the _perfect chance to discover her inner Gryffindor _have convinced her that she ought to go on a night-time hunt for cinder toffee and pumpkin pasties. It comes as no great surprise to Rose that, in fact, she _hates _wandering around the castle in places she shouldn't be in the middle of the night. OK, sure, it's not actually the middle of the night. It's only ten, and she's been up later on prefect rounds, but either way she's breaking the rules, and she doesn't like it. She doesn't like the unease that creeps up the back of her neck, doesn't like the fear of being caught, of failing to live up to her badge.

She likes even less the sudden realisation that she can hear footsteps.

She quickens her feet. Whoever it is, surely they cannot keep up with a reasonably fit quidditch player in full flight. Not that they're trying to, necessarily, of course. They're probably not chasing her at all. The fact that her overly-vivid imagination has jumped to presuming she is being pursued is, surely, conclusive evidence that she doesn't actually _have _an inner Gryffindor. And it certainly proves once and for all that her hunch that she was not made for conspiracy is correct.

Whoever it is, they _can _keep up with a reasonably fit quidditch player in full flight. They are doing so very successfully, in fact, the sound growing closer and ever closer, drawing ominously near with every panicked breath Rose takes.

Clearly, they _are _following her.

She steels her nonexistent courage and chances a glance over her shoulder as she runs, not expecting to see much in the dim light of the corridors. In fact, her inner Ravenclaw points out, looking over her shoulder is probably a waste of precious time and -

It's Scorpius Malfoy. It has to be. The only feature she can distinguish in the darkness is that distinctive blond hair.

She curses her luck. Why, of all the people to catch her in the middle of her begrudging participation in this damn scheme, does it have to be him? A prefect, of course, and so fond of rules she sometimes wonders how he can breathe. And then, on top of that, there's the helpful fact that he has this strange juvenile crush on her, which seems to consist almost entirely of comparing her scent to _foodstuffs_ and gawping at her from across the potions lab. More recently, of course, she's patched things up a bit with Albus, so now there's even the bonus that he sometimes gawps at her from close quarters, too.

Maybe, her inner Slytherin points out, she could use these multiple facts to her advantage. Perhaps he could be convinced that, because of his misplaced affection for her, he ought not to turn her in. And maybe, after tonight, the school's most devout follower of rules will think better of his interest in a reckless Gryffindor who tramples school policies beneath her booted feet. Well, tiptoes round the edges of them, at any rate. She has to concede that what she's doing right now isn't quite _trampling_.

With that almost-plan in mind, she stops, forces a smile onto her face, and turns around.

"Rose?" He whispers into the darkness, but she knows that he must know the answer. Her hair must stand out at least as much as his own.

"Yup."

"What are you doing here?"

"Just enjoying an evening jog."

"I don't believe you." Yes, he's awfully astute, is Malfoy.

"What gave me away?"

"The fact that Albus told me James invited him to a bonfire night party. He thought I could go too, actually, but he's not _my _cousin so I thought I might give it a miss. I thought it didn't really sound like my scene. Anyway, where was I?"

"James invited Albus to a bonfire night party." She supplies with what she hopes is a winning smile. A winning smile may be needed, she suspects, to convince him not to turn her in.

"Ah, yes. Exactly. So I was. Anyway, apparently you wouldn't help with fireworks or alcohol so they're making you go to the kitchens. And so, therefore, I deduce that you are currently on your way to the kitchens."

"Oh. Well, yes I am."

"Good. Let's go, then." He continues in the direction she was previously running, and she finds herself rushing to catch up.

"Hang on – why – why are you coming with me, all of a sudden?"

"I told you, I didn't think the party sounded like my scene. So here I am, instead."

"So the party didn't sound like your scene, but sneaking around the castle after curfew did?"

"Well, not when you put it like that. But I thought trying to be supportive of you sounded like it might be my scene." He tells the floor just in front of his toes, and she finds herself tripping over nothing and staggering for a couple of paces.

Perhaps, after all, there is more to this crush than foodstuff-based compliments and endless gawping.

"Thanks, I guess." She's not really sure what else to say.

"You're welcome." He beams a little, his pale cheeks creasing in the darkness, as they continue to pick out their way to the kitchens.

"I don't think sneaking around the castle after curfew is really my scene either." She admits quietly. "It's a bit too... too Gryffindor for me, you know what I mean?"

"No, I don't know what you mean." He states mildly.

"What?"

"I don't think anything is too Gryffindor for you." He says it as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. Perhaps, she wonders, this crush runs a little deeper than she realised, if he's as oblivious to her faults as all this.

"I think _many _things are too Gryffindor for me." She insists. "I think that removing a spider from the bath tub is too Gryffindor for me, or eating pepper imps, or sledging down a steep hill in the snow. As for conspiring to throw a party that involves underage alcohol consumption, and the use banned fireworks, and sourcing food after curfew, that is _very much _too Gryffindor for me."

"I think there are different ways to be a Gryffindor." He says thoughtfully. "Just as there are different ways to be a Slytherin, I suppose. You're good at standing in front of a room full of people and commanding their attention. I think that's very Gryffindor. Playing quidditch without letting the tension get to you, that too. Telling people when they're wrong even when it's not what they want to hear. I think that you're in exactly the right house."

"You – you do?"

"I do." He agrees firmly, and suddenly, his crush on her doesn't seem quite so pathetic after all. She can't quite explain it, but somewhere during the course of this conversation he's stopped being a source of exasperation, and started being, if nothing else, a _friend_.

"Thank you." She says simply.

It is, she notes as they enter the kitchen and ask the elves for the required snacks, a very good thing that she agreed to do this supply run. If she hadn't, she would have missed out on this excellent opportunity to discover that there is, in fact, sometimes something worth hearing going on in Scorpius Malfoy's head. And that, perhaps, there is sometimes something worth being proud of going on in her at-least-slightly-Gryffindor heart.

They start to walk back to the party in silence, but she knows she needs to break it. She knows that there is one thing still left for her inner Gryffindor to achieve today, before she can call it a night. She steels her courage and opens her mouth.

"Will you come back to the party with me, now? I know it's not your scene and all, but - it would be good to have your company."

"It would?"

"Yeah. Come on, you'll enjoy it. And it'll be better than slinking back to your dungeon, at least." She hopes her tone conveys that her words are a gentle foray into the art of friendly teasing. After all, if they are to be friends, now, she ought to start practising.

"You might be right."

"I usually am." She points out with a grin. "And anyway, no one looks back on their life and remembers the nights they had plenty of sleep."

**a/n Thanks for reading!**


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